


so won't you stay with me through the night (just grab a pillow tight and wait for the dizziness to pass)

by laughs_in_distortion



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...ish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Awkward Conversations, Bed Sex, Bittersweet, Blackmail, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Martin Blackwood Whump, Might go past that tho we'll see, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Power Imbalance, Protective Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Protective Martin Blackwood, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sharing a Bed, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Trauma, Whump, Workplace Sex, eventually lol, slightly anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughs_in_distortion/pseuds/laughs_in_distortion
Summary: After the incident with Jane Prentiss, Martin is offered shelter in the archives by none other than Jon himself.If only this small measure of safety didn't come at the price of a different kind entirely.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	so won't you stay with me through the night (just grab a pillow tight and wait for the dizziness to pass)

"Well," Jon said, gesturing to the room behind the open door. "This is it. It's not much, I'm afraid." 

Martin would have to agree, but he could also think of a lot worse. Hell, he was looking down the barrel of "a whole lot worse," apart from this.

He pushed in the door, gazing around the tiny room. "I still can't believe you've had this this whole time." 

Jon glanced over the threshold. "Well, it _is_ certainly convenient." He exhaled. "But I just didn't see why it would be anyone else's business." 

Martin nodded. He understood that more than Jon would ever know. 

Jon seemed to be unsure of what the rest of the conversation might entail, so instead he nodded as well, and said. "Well...right. I guess I'll be going back to my flat tonight." 

Martin felt a pang of guilt at this. Guilt and a little bit of something else he didn't really feel like identifying. "Oh…" 

He supposed it made sense. That didn't make it less disappointing. Or nerve-wracking.

_Don't be selfish, Martin._ _Sleeping in your own flat is probably better for you than sleeping at work._

Well. Perhaps not in his own case.

Martin glanced at Jon, and then the room, and then the floor. "I'm sorry about this. I guess I'm sort of kicking you out of your own bed." He gave a strained, nervous laugh.

Jon tilted his head. "Perhaps. But it's no matter." Then _he_ laughed. Martin hadn't heard that sound more than once or twice, but he was already very fond of it. Jon gestured. "I mean it only makes sense I actually _live_ in the flat I pay rent on. At least once in a while." 

Martin snorted. "Yes, that might be an advisable financial decision."

Martin was suddenly aware _he_ was going to have to keep paying for a flat he could not use. 

Jon seemed to notice the change in atmosphere, because he cleared his throat and shuffled where he stood. 

"Well...I'll be off then." Jon said finally. "I'm going to be cleaning up a few more statements, so if you need anything before I go…"

"Nothing I can think of," Martin said. 

Jon nodded again. "Well. If you think of it later."

Suddenly, Jon was very carefully and awkwardly putting a hand on Martin's arm.

Martin was startled, but he suppressed a flinch, because it was nice and so very un-Jon-like and he didn't want to ruin it. 

"I…" Jon looked slightly lost but the expression of sympathy on his face and in his voice was stronger. "I'm sorry all this happened to you."

"It's ok." Martin said. 

"That's not how i would classify it." Jon laughed again, but there wasn't much humor in it. "But...uh...well…my point is…" he sighed and pulled away his hand all too soon. "I hope you get some sleep, Martin." 

Martin nodded, sighing heavily. He suddenly felt so very tired. "I really do, too." 

And then Jon was gone, and Martin was staring at a strange little storage room with a strange bed in it, not sure if he had the energy or luxury to feel anything about it.

* * *

Martin had sat down on the edge of the mattress and was staring at the wall, losing track of time as his mind still struggled to process what had happened. 

Had Jon actually lent him his _room_? 

_Well it's not his_ actual _room, is it?_ He corrected himself. 

Still, it was frightfully close. 

It was also kind in a way Martin hadn't expected at all.

He stared into the wall, his mind still feeling foggy.

Eventually he realized Jon had almost certainly left quite some time ago, and maybe it was time to try and get some sleep. Some _real_ sleep maybe even, for the first time in a very long time if he succeeded. 

Martin knew he wasn't _safe_ here, he wasn't safe _anywhere._ Still, he couldn't deny that being at the archives felt...better. More _secure_. 

The room was barely a room, but it had a little space to stand in, and place to lie down, and a bare, warm light on the far side of the wall, and it wasn't quite as cold as the rest of the archives could be (probably because of the lack of a draft when you shut the door, Martin thought to himself). 

It was a nice little place to hide away in, at least. 

It was _Jon's_ little hideaway, and that thought made all the blood rush to Martin's ears. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand involuntarily, still trying to wrap his head around what it meant that he had offered it to him.

_Probably_ _best not to think about it too much._ He decided to himself, biting his lip. 

Martin considered lying down in his work clothes and closing his eyes, but he decided if he was going to try to get _real_ sleep, he might as well be comfortable. He hadn't really had the barest degree of _comfortable_ in quite some time, had he? 

Martin ran his hand over the blanket he was sitting on, realizing they were quite soft and seemed fairly heavy too. He'd probably be too warm in his trousers and jumper at any rate. 

The thought passed his mind that these were _Jon's_ blankets, that he'd probably brought them from his home. As much as that made Martin want to look away from himself, and the images that ensued, and think of something else, he...sort of _liked_ that thought. Found the examination of it sort of...inviting really. 

Did Jon get cold easily? Is that why there seemed to be so many blankets on the mattress? Was that pillow his as well? Were they something he'd bought especially for this purpose, or cast offs he didn't care for, or were they... from his own... bed? 

_That_ thought felt like too much, and again Martin felt his heart flutter and like he couldn't quite make eye contact with the wall. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to clear his mind of whatever... _that_ was. 

_Well, no matter what, it was terribly gracious of Jon to lend this all to you, wasn't it? Especially since...well, I mean…_

Martin knew the end of that thought had a lot of paths to choose from and they all stung a bit to think about. 

So instead he pulled his hair between his fingers hard enough to bring his mind out from its inward gaze and focus on something he needed to do. 

Martin exhaled and stood up from the mattress. He pulled off his jumper first and laid it on the bed, then started unbuttoning his shirt, still a little wrinkled from sleeping in it the night before. They couldn't _stay_ on the bed, so in the end, he draped them both over a box Jon had clearly been using to hold objects he didn't particularly want on the floor. Martin was too tired for folding. 

It was less drafty than the outside space, but the air still made a little shudder run through him, so he devised to be a little quicker with his trousers. Martin kicked off his shoes and undid his belt at the same time, pulling off his socks while still standing, and soon he was in his boxers and vest, his clothes were on top of a box in the corner and he was tugging the lightswitch off, and soon after that he was nestling under the double layer of blankets. 

He curled up a bit, trying to compensate for the chill, and suddenly the weight of everything he'd been carrying really started to hit him. 

Martin felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he hugged himself a little tighter. 

Well, at least he could have a good cry away from prying eyes outside his window, if nothing else.

His eyelids fluttered. Yes, there were no windows here. No way for worms or anything else to get in.

The pillow was soft, and the scent of it was different, and Martin knew somewhere that it smelled like Jon. That thought was oddly soothing, more than it was embarrassing to consider. 

Martin felt himself fading away from consciousness when a noise snapped through the room, cut clean through his ears and split into his chest.

There was a knock at the door.

Martin felt like he was being dragged awake by his hair. He stopped breathing, digging his nails into the mattress. 

No. No she. No. No.

_No_.

He didn't want to look. He was frozen where he lay. 

He was going to be _gotten_ finally; there was nowhere to run. 

Martin thought about all the follow-up work he'd done on statements for people who had died shortly after giving them, with horrifying fates so _callously_ unfair, and realized he was about to become one of them. 

After all he had endured for _weeks._

After Jon had gone through all that trouble for him…

The door handle started to turn.

Maybe he should have sprang from bed and held the door closed and started stuffing his clothes into the gaps around it and…

But he was. He was too tired. 

Martin was just too tired. 

Tired and fully drained of hope.

It's not like he could survive long barricaded in here anyway. A few days at best.

Then someone else would come into work and the worms would get them too.

The door creaked open. After all, there was no lock. 

He laid there, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the choking echo of what would have been words if they were alive, and the... _slithering._

But there was none of that. 

"Martin? Are you awake?" 

Martin felt so very cold, even under 3 layers of blankets.

But, as if he was being pulled along on a marionette string, his head slowly turned to face the door. 

It wasn't her.

It really wasn't her at all.

Martin really wished he could say what he saw calmed him down any measure. That his fear wasn't still winding his stomach into knots.

But he couldn't say that, for standing in the center of the threshold was Elias Bouchard.


End file.
